


How to Woo You

by Nerdbirdy



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor has a crush, Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Multi, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-13 14:56:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18033848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerdbirdy/pseuds/Nerdbirdy
Summary: Connor has a crush on the new detective but doesn't know how to properly swoon you. Hank tries his best to help the android figure it out while working out the cranks of their new father-son relationship.





	How to Woo You

**Author's Note:**

> hey, this has been sitting in my files when the game was really popular and i've been wanting to post it. i'm still really proud of it but i never finished it and i don't really want to finish it.
> 
> enjoy!

**MAR 16TH, 2039**

**AM 08:55:15**

-

Connor sits at his desk at the DPD with his body set at the optimal sitting position with his back perfectly aligned at a 90° angle, chin down, feet flat on the floor and with his arms parallel to the floors resting on arm support. One of his hands is outstretched towards the terminal’s access point, his skin pulled back artificially to scan through the DPD’s case records. His eyes stare blankly at the screen as he scans through the recent cases brought in this week at an inhuman rate and storing them in his own database for personal reference before he goes out today with Hank.

His desk over the months after what was popularized as the android uprising had received some simple decorations as he starts to make himself comfortable as a permanent part of the DPD, nearly all of them given to him by Hank thus far. His dog paw-shaped mousepad, although impractical, Connor comments, as he can just directly connect to the terminal to his mental biocomponents at a faster and easier rate, was slapped on his desk one day. The shaggy lieutenant pointed to it and curtly spoke that his desk was looking empty and he might as well put something on it.

Another similar gift was given to him by the same partner, a wind-up blue fish toy that sits near its mousepad for the same purpose. 

“Saw it at the store while I was checking out,” Hank excuses once more, ”Play with it, wind it up, whatever. Just get some crap on there, will’ya? He flaps his head to Connor’s area before sitting down at his own desk with his coffee. Although he lacks an organic heart, the thirium pump that replaces it is metaphorically warmed with the small gestures as Hank and Connor’s relationship strengthened after the aforementioned android uprising. Hank’s derogatory comments with him being an android have been replaced with sharp jabs that Connor has recognized as being affectionate. Hank’s even allowed him to stay at his house until the proceedings of androids being able to own property along with other acknowledgements are straightened out. It’s taken a while for it, but neither particularly mind it.

While the gifts that Hank’s given to him are thoughtful, the one that he’s grown the fondest of is a dog bobblehead that the newest detective had given to him. It’s one shaped to be like a Saint Bernard with its tongue out, similar to Sumo except the markings are not exactly the same, but Connor acknowledges the sentiment.  
Sumo’s double ended up on Connor’s desk one day before he came in for his morning shift and noticed the new addition immediately as he walked towards his desk. Although, the surprise of who gave it to him was quickly discovered much to the surprise of the new meat.

“I am led to believe that you were the one to place this on my desk. Am I right, detective?” Connor came up to them as they were getting their morning coffee.

“How’d you know it was me and not someone else?” They asked, seemingly acting innocent.

He pointed to the dog’s neck, speaking as if he was right there at a crime scene and figured out the cataclysm to the case;

“Your fingerprints were left on here five minutes ago.”

“Oh.”

Connor pulls up a smirk.

A pause.

Connor glances down to your coffee before back up to them. His legs shift. “I must rephrase, detective. Are you following with Hank’s inclination to decorate my desk as well?”

“--Well, yeah. You’re apart of us now. You’re the only one here without stuff on your desk.”

They gesture over to the desks with their mug and Connor glances over, his eyes analyzing the number of items on each individual’s desk and able to conclude that a large majority of the employees at the DPD had personal items distributed on their desk. The small portion of individuals without that was him. He silently registers that information and looks back to them.

“You should start looking around for something, Connor. It wouldn’t hurt.” You suggest, sipping at your coffee.

Connor feels something tug at his thirium pump regulator and he has what he can decipher to be the similar feeling of an impulse to ask them to go with him to window shop for an item. He hastily overrides that message and keeps his mouth shut. Instead, he gives you a socially acceptable smile and a nod of his head.

“I’ll keep a note of that, detective. Thank you.” 

“No problem.”

Another pause.

His central processing thrums up intensely as it registers that the talk between you two has driven into the criteria of an awkward social conversation. Whether or not it was a false monitoring, he wishes not to make him seem more incompetent as he has already and dismisses himself. His sudden dismissal left a strange look on the detective’s face as they watch him, brow raised.

The new detective and Connor have ‘hit it off’ as Hank said in the car after they’d been on the case with the rookie. Even though they’d heard the news of Connor’s involvement with the android uprising, they didn’t really treat him different or some martyr like others had in the DPD. They’ve only spoken a few times, but each time they have to their part their ways, Connor is left thinking of a way to speak to them again, to get a sight of their smile again or maybe if he’s lucky, hear their laugh.

“Sounds like to me that you gotta’ little crush, Connor,” Hank says as they were stopped at that stoplight a month ago, glancing over to his partner with a sly look on his face.

Connor’s look spoke the opposite, his eyebrows creased with worry as he squints at the coin between his fingers. “An interpersonal romantic relationship with someone in the DPD would not be--” Hank cuts off Connor, almost scolding him. “Oh, come on-- it’s not like you’re askin’ to marry them.” 

The android notices the undertone of impatience drawled in his tone and takes the hint, looking towards him instead of persisting his negative concerns.

“It ain’t gonna’ kill anyone if you ask them out to go somewhere’, alright?” Hank continues, the impatience diminishing as he gives his piece.

“Where would you suggest, lieutenant?” Connor inquires, idly rolling the coin through his knuckles as he checks his own database for locations of an ideal date.

Searching…

Results invalid.

“‘S Hank.” Hank corrects.

“Hank.” Connor corrects.

 _Hank_ shoots out a breath and rhythmically taps the steering wheel as he brainstorms, “I’unno, some fancy restaurant? Walk on the beach…”

“The current temperature is 31° F and Lake Huron’s temperature is 34° F. A walk on the beach would be more efficient somewhere in June.”

The light turns green, Hank idles for a moment to give Connor that ‘that’ look.

“Well, ain’t you a smartass.”

He puts his foot on the gas.

“A nice restaurant seems to be the most adequate option, then.” Connor stows the coin away.

“Sure,” Hank responds without looking over, adjusting his mirror.

Connor sits back in his seat to idle for the rest of the trip, searching through local restaurants with his connection to the Internet.

Now here he is, a month later. The perfect restaurant, the possible destinations rehearsed into his central processing either from Hank’s house, their house, the police department. He’d checked online for the most popular flowers for a successful date. He double-checks.

Probability of success 95%.

Very little room for failure; just one thing.

Connor still needs to ask them.

As if right on cue, the front door of the offices is opened and he hears their voice as someone greets them walking in. It’s around the time that Connor estimated when they arrived, only twenty seconds later. Making a mental note of that, he briskly looks up from his terminal in time to see them smile at an officer throwing up a wave as they were heading out, the rookie walking towards the break area. He brings back the artificial skin over him and leans back in his chair, holding the arm support as he’s ready to get up; but something in his wiring holds him back.

“Well?” Hank speaks up definitely across from him, the prototype android whipping his head towards him. He moves the mug gently to the direction of the rookie.

Connor remembers to last night where he’d confessed a month later of what’d he do today, his led flickering yellow as he recalls.

“Tomorrow will be the day, Hank,” Connor says out of the blue to Hank as they sit down at the dining table for the night.

“Bwuh?” Hank justifyingly blurts out.

“...To ask the detective on a date.” The android hesitantly continues to soothe Hank’s sudden worry of another android takeover.

“Oh.”

He takes a moment, brows raising before lifting the mug up for a drink. “Really? ‘Huh, took you long enough.”

Hank settles in a chair, watching the TV from afar.

“Though, I am unsure of how to approach the situation.” Connor holds his hands together on the table.

“First time’s always the hardest,” Hank mumbles absentmindedly, another drink.

“How would you approach it, Hank?”

“Jeez, kid, why’re you asking? You got the internet wired in you.” The lieutenant points up to Connor’s noggin to make a point. “Go ask Google.”

“I would rather hear advice by someone I trust.”

Hank jokingly scoffs, side-eyeing Connor. “What, you don’t trust Google?” He brings up a smirk.

It isn’t returned.

“Alright, fine.” Hank mumbles with an eye-roll, setting down his mug with another clink. As the saying goes, it took him a minute to brainstorm, but really, Connor counted it to be roughly fifteen seconds as Hank quietly raps a pair of knuckles against the dining table to stimulate his thinking process. Connor watches with a small knot to his eyebrows.

Finally, Hank blurts out something, holding his hands up with his wrists still pressed on the table. “Look, you don’t gotta’ make it difficult. Just ask ‘em when they come in for work or somethin’ so you’re not worryin’ about it for the rest of the day. Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Good.” Hank withdraws a sigh, picking up his mug again. “Now lemme’ get back to my coffee.” 

Connor does.

“You ain’t got all day. Go get ‘em.” Hank encourages him, bringing Connor back to Earth.

And so, he goes.


End file.
